


Thorin's First Touch

by HildyJ



Series: Oak and Mistletoe [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Time, Inexperienced Thorin, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 04:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4947505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HildyJ/pseuds/HildyJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin tries out another kind of touch after regaining the full use of his senses.</p><p>A part of the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3674136/chapters/8123694">Oak and Mistletoe</a> universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thorin's First Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rutobuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rutobuka/gifts).



> This was prompted by [Ruto](http://rutobuka2.tumblr.com/) who wanted Thorin touching himself for the first time after his senses have awakened.
> 
> You don't necessarily need to have read [Oak and Mistletoe](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3674136/chapters/8123694) to understand this fic but it helps, I think. And for the ones who've read that other fic, this one takes place sometime after Thorin has returned to Erebor (chapter 8).
> 
> But you all need to know that this is the first time Thorin tries masturbating because he was never able to feel any kind of pleasure before. Oh, and he's desperately in love with Bilbo at this point.

Thorin closed the door and heaved a great sigh. Finally, he was allowed some solitude after the welcoming meal held to celebrate his return to Erebor. By the end of the night, his smile had strained to its limits as even more nobles, advisors and prominent dwarves wanted to congratulate him on his fortitude in finally overcoming his sickness. 

Thorin chuckled dryly. If they only knew how easy it had been. All it took was five kisses from a hobbit, just five…

He pushed away from the door and wandered into his bedroom without any real purpose. It was still too early for sleep and his rooms were still bare after his return, but right now he wanted to do anything else but go back to the festivities in the great hall.

Slumping down on the edge of his bed, he ran a dull eye around his room, looking for anything to entertain him. Finally, he noticed the small stack of books. It wasn’t customary to keep books in your own home since Erebor had an impressive library, holding all the books that a dwarf could ever want.

Thorin stood up and walked over to the stack. But these weren’t Erebor books, he thought as he picked out a slim volume. These were Shire books. And he wanted them close by, couldn’t bear the thought of them being swallowed up by that huge library, being lent out to any who asked.

He turned the book over in his hands. It was one of Bilbo’s gifts to him, a collection of tales from the Blue Mountains. He remembered the last time he had opened it. He had been sitting on the bench outside Bag End, Bilbo next to him with his eyes closed, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine.

He remembered how Bilbo had stood up, stretched until his shirt threatened to leave the waist of his trousers and gestured for Thorin to come help prepare supper.

‘In a minute,’ Thorin had said, turning another page. ‘I just need to finish this story; I don’t want to lose my place.’

And Bilbo had laughed, pulling out his handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket, and fitted it between the open pages before shutting the book around it.

‘That’ll keep your place until you’re done peeling potatoes. Now, come on!’ he had said, pulling a grinning Thorin back inside.

Thorin smiled at the memory, his thumb idly running down the closed pages and then up again until it stopped at a small irregularity. He looked closer, noticing a small corner of fabric sticking out, before letting the pages fall open to reveal their treasure. 

The handkerchief was of plain cotton, the two intertwining B’s the only thing to distinguish as something special. It had been pressed completely flat but when Thorin pulled it out, it unfolded in his hand, swinging slowly.

Without thinking, he left the book behind on the table and took the handkerchief back with him to the bed. He spread it carefully out over the sheets, lying down on his side next to it to study it closer. Something tickled in the back of his mind, telling him that he was being silly, pouring this much attention on a small piece of fabric. But Thorin thought, as he ran a finger along the finely embroidered edge, it was something when he had nothing else.

His arm tired of holding him up and he rolled onto his stomach, jostling the handkerchief as he went. And then he felt it, a small hint of scent rising up from it. It was different than the smells he had discovered since arriving in Erebor, like the smell of smoked meats, hot metal and perfumed beard oils. 

It was different but wholly familiar.

Thorin picked up the handkerchief, holding it close to his face. There it was. The smell of the Shire, the smell of summer but most importantly, the smell of Bilbo.

His hips bumped against the mattress as Thorin shifted on the bed, trying to be more comfortable as he inhaled deeply.

It had been a hot day when Bilbo had plopped this into his book, probably after using it several times to wipe the sweat from his brow or neck as he had worked in the garden. And the smell still lingered, even after several months and a journey across Middle Earth. It was something earthy and musky, something that impelled Thorin to take a deeper sniff.

His breath was loud against the cotton as he blew it out again after keeping that scent inside of him. Immediately, he drew in another breath, almost feeling dizzy.

His hips shifted against the bed again and then he felt it: that same heaviness in his middle that he remembered feeling back in Bag End when he had first noticed Bilbo’s disquieting loveliness. He shifted again and a small gasp escaped him. That felt good. _Really_ good.

He let his hips drop completely against the mattress as he took another deep smell of the handkerchief. Closing his eyes, he conjured up the image of Bilbo which had first arrested him. Wet from the rain, drops of water sliding from the tips of his curls and down over his face, over his body. His shirt – Thorin raised his hips and let them fall against the bed, dragging them slightly – his shirt made completely see-through by the rain. Thorin still remembered how Bilbo’s nipples had crinkled against the cold; how they had been a beautifully flushed thing in contrast to the white shirt they were peaking against. 

The hips came down again, dragging more roughly. Something sparked then, running from his groin and outwards. It tingled up his spine and down his legs, curling his toes. Thorin tried the same movement again, now chasing that feeling. He scrambled up on his legs, his bottom rising towards the ceiling before crashing down again, his knees sliding against the smooth sheets until he hit his pleasure point again. And then again. And again.

The handkerchief was now completely covering the bottom-half of his face now, his breath echoing against it as his movements grew quicker and rougher. The muscles strained in his legs and arms. He was chasing something, something that was just out of his reach but he wasn’t sure what it was. 

The ties of his front caught on the mattress in another of his downward movements, pulling his already snug trousers even tighter. Thorin growled and rolled over on his back, pulling at them desperately until the flaps opened and he could push his trouser down to his knees.

The slap of flesh against flesh was almost comical and if Thorin was in any other mood, he might have laughed at the sight of his cock smacking against his stomach with such insistence. It wasn’t the first time he had seen it this way, of course. But all of his life, it had always just been a nuisance, something that postponed his morning trip to the bathroom. And like a sore muscle or burnt finger, the only thing you could do was wait until it passed.

But now… Thorin reached down and palmed it, feeling how his foreskin had slid completely back, exposing the reddish head. A small pocket of skin still remained under the head, and he played with it for a bit, delighting in its unusual tautness. His fingers followed down a prominent vein along the shaft and then it was there again, the striking pleasure pulling all of his muscles towards one single point in his middle.

His fingers grew stronger then, gripping just beneath the head and made a firm rubbing motion, like he was wiping blood from the steel of his sword.

Thorin hissed. Too much. The pleasure acquired an undercurrent of pain and he pulled his hand away, looking at his cock like it was particularly difficult puzzle. Or maybe one of those riddles in which Bilbo had delighted in testing him.

Bilbo.

Thorin closed his eyes and let his head fall back, remembering the final moment between them. Bilbo looking up at him with red eyes as he turned to ride away, Bilbo’s hand falling from his knee. His handprint had stayed on Thorin for most of his journey, burned into his skin as a horrid reminder of what Thorin had left behind.

It was still there now, simmering beneath the surface. Thorin focused in on that feeling, trying to recall how Bilbo’s hand had felt. Small, of course, but the fingers were wide and firm, suitable for gardening and working plants into medicine. As Thorin closed his eyes, he could imagine those fingers going further up his leg, abandoning the knee in favour of what was between Thorin’s thighs. Bilbo would know how to hold him, how to grip to give him what he needed, Thorin was sure of it. He had trusted Bilbo to show him every other pleasure, after all. Why not this one, too?

His eyes remained closed as he imagined Bilbo kneeling between his legs on the bed, his dressing gown falling open to reveal his bare chest as he leaned over to run a finger up the side of Thorin’s cock.

Thorin’s breath sped up as he imagined Bilbo grinning cheekily at the way his cock jumped at the attention.

He could almost hear Bilbo’s whisper, an echo repeated five times from the last summer. ‘We’ll take it slowly until you get used to it.’

‘I don’t want it slow,’ Thorin murmured, ‘I want it _now_.’

Bilbo’s chuckle was next to his ear now. ‘If you want it, you’ll have to work for it. Put out your hand.’

Even with his eyes closed, Thorin easily found his cock again, his palm brushing over the sensitive head.

‘Make a loose fist,’ Bilbo whispered, ‘like you’re holding your sword.’

Thorin’s hand fisted around the shaft, marvelling at the heat of the thing. Without any more thoughts or orders, his hand began to move, travelling up and down his cock and feeling his pleasure build again.

‘Don’t forget the head,’ Bilbo whispered, ‘that’s the best bit.’

Thorin’s hand stopped at the head, feeling the surprising wetness. He squeezed gently, wary after his earlier experience, and felt more wetness trickling down his palm.

‘ _Yes_ ,’ he gasped, straining his head against mattress at the spike in pleasure.

‘Thorin,’ Bilbo whispered. ‘Thorin, Thorin, _Thorin_. You’re doing so well. Just a bit more. Come on.’

Though his eyes were still closed, Thorin could suddenly see the shape of Bilbo clambering on top of him and leaning over until his chest was directly in front of Thorin’s face. He bounced then, matching the ever quickening pace of Thorin’s hand. The nipples firmed up, swaying tantalizingly close to Thorin’s mouth. But they were just out of reach. Thorin’s hand became faster.

The movement was easier now, smoother with the added moisture and experience. Thorin went up and down his shaft, feeling the bulging veins moving under his touch as he built his pleasure higher and higher. He lingered over the head, getting to know the best spots to pay the most attention to. And then he repeated the entire process, feeling closer than ever before to that thing he was chasing.

His thighs were tense, waiting and straining, and his heels pressed dents into the mattress as he worked himself faster and faster.

Bilbo suddenly leaned forward, the peak of his right nipple brushing against Thorin’s bottom lip. ‘You’re there, Thorin. Time to let go.’

And Thorin did. All the heat, all the pressure, all the tingles in his body converged into a single, solitary point before it burst outward again, a hot, white heat zinging through his body. He arched into a bow, his cock pointing straight at the ceiling, as he felt splatters of wetness covering his knuckles. His hips pumped vainly upwards, seeking to prolong the pleasure that was still holding sway over his entire body.

‘ _Bilbo_ ,’ Thorin murmured, his mouth dry. ‘Mahal, Bilbo.’

His hips finally fell back against the bed, his body going slack from the recent exertion. Shivers still moved through him, currents of pleasure like a tiny offspring from a mighty river. Thorin stretched his entire body, feeling his toes uncurl as he did. 

And then he opened his eyes. And he was alone.

The room suddenly felt chilly as he became aware of how he looked. His trousers were rucked down over his knees, the hem of them just getting caught under his heels where he had pressed them into the bed. His legs were splayed wide, one of them bent with a foot flat on the bed and the other had fallen to the side, his thigh pressing against the mattress. On the thigh rested his right hand, reddened and rough from recent use, white splashes decorating his knuckles.

Thorin lifted his hand to study it closer. He was no dwarfling, so he knew what this whiteness was and what its intended use was. Though it had been rather wasted on him, Thorin thought with a hint of a smirk. But he had never seen it up close before.

He ran his other hand over it, feeling the texture and scooping some of it up to hold between two fingers. He rubbed them together, seeing how the fluid behaved. Thorin had thought it would be smooth like oil but this was slightly tacky, sticking between his finger pads as it dried.

Thorin shifted upwards, his bare bottom sliding against the sheets until he finally rested against the pillows at the top of his bed. His hands were still held stiffly in front of him as he looked around for something to wipe them with. His gaze fell on the small, innocent-looking square of cotton, forgotten and left by the side of the bed when he had been distracted by something else. Bilbo’s handkerchief.

Thorin sighed and pushed off the bed, his legs wobbling slightly as they hit the ground. Wiggling until his trousers fell down, he stepped out of them, thankful for the length of his tunic as he made his way to the bathroom to clean himself. 

When he came back, he carefully folded up the handkerchief and placed it gently under his pillow. 

He knew that he would need it again soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](http://hildyj.tumblr.com/)


End file.
